Twelfth Day of Christmas #6
“I was hurting,” she said, a shiver in her voice.
“Anika’s visit hit me hard. I believed her when she assured me that you weren’t here for me, and kissing Tom was a distraction .
. .” She felt both entirely justified and like sidewalk scum to be scraped off his shoe.
“Oh, so that’s why the next day at Windy Nook you turned away from me. ”
“Anika’s words got into my head too. I allowed myself to wallow around in my doubts.
I’d been congratulating myself for being such a changed man, and yet I keep making the same mistakes over and over.
” He threw the snowball, striking a tree trunk.
“And then later I heard that you got schnookered,” he said, his eyebrows up.
Kestrel started to laugh. “Sooo schnookered. Just embarrassingly schnookered.”
“You hate being drunk. I didn’t think it could be true!”
Kestrel laughed harder. “You have no idea! I was such a mess!”
I’m nothing but mess, she thought. I’m not worth the bother.
She withdrew her hand. He looked down at his, as if sad to find it empty.
“You know, Kes, I really did break up with you for your own sake. I knew you wouldn’t be happy with me longterm, not with the family I have. I had to save you from all that—What?”
Kestrel had stopped walking. She glared at him. Anger was zipping up her legs and warming her throat, and she barked out one word: “Bullshit.”
He scowled. “What are you—?”
“BULLSHIT!” she shouted. “Stop using me as an excuse! You were scared, Hendrik Kern. You were terrified. It felt like life or death to let down your family, and instead of questioning that and having the balls to make your own decision, you told yourself it was for my good? Come on, you broke up with me to protect your own scared self!”
“Well, what about you?” Hank’s voice was rising.
“You baited my mom on purpose, didn’t you?
You went into my family home confident you could bend them all to your charm like you always do, but when it didn’t work, you kicked over a can of gasoline and lit a match.
You’re so scared of trusting people, you couldn’t let yourself be vulnerable with them—or anyone—unless they offered you utter adoration. There might have been a way—”
“No,” said Kestrel. “There was no way. They never would have accepted me. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t box myself up for them.”
“That’s not what I want either,” he said, roughly rubbing his hand over his face. “But you didn’t need to burn the whole thing down.”
“Whatever, insulting your mom might have been unnecessary, but ultimately I was right! Right to resist making myself smaller in order to fit into your family’s weird little world!”
His fists clenched, his jaw tightened, and he yelled, “Yeah, I know!”
She barked an angry laugh. “We’re both a couple of cowards. We were great coasting along and then at the first roadblock, we jumped out of the speeding car and blamed the other person for our broken bones.”
His eyes flashed. “That is a terrible analogy, and I hate it!”
He had never looked so sexy as when he was inordinately enraged by a metaphor.
She took a shaky breath and just looked at him.
He was so strong, so capable, and her body knew his so well.
It couldn’t comprehend why she wasn’t pressed against it.
Her nose and ears were bright white spots of cold, and the freezing air was snaking up her legs.
But her middle was warm and thrumming with want.
“Um, why are you just staring at me?” he said. “I’m angry at you.”
“And it’s really hot.” She closed the space between them, her hands free to explore the feel of his chest in his Regency finest. Every inch of him was hard and pleasant to the touch. The breadth of his shoulders practically made her swoon.
He was shaking his head as if trying to stay exasperated, but when he looked down at her, he licked his lips, and his breath started to shorten. “I’m so attracted to you, it hurts, Kes. It’s physically painful.”
She raised her hands to his shoulders, and he lifted her up to him as he used to do, so their faces were closer together. She let her skirt pull up to her knees so she could wrap her legs around his middle. He began to explore her earlobe with his lips and kiss the space behind her ear.
“I don’t know why I was so afraid to have these talks,” she said breathlessly. “Marital relations aren’t so bad, once you get into it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with his mouth over the hollow of her throat, “but I love the way your voice vibrates under my lips.”
His hands were gripping her hips over her dress. He didn’t stop kissing her neck as he said, “You’re so fancy. I don’t know how to touch you without damaging your dress.”
“Yeah, don’t hurt the lace or Mrs. Wattlesbrook will have my hide,” she whispered.
Avoid physical intimacy at all costs!
Kestrel trembled at the thought, but then Hank’s hand slipped under the fabric of her dress. His fingers felt her bare thighs, and he groaned and said against her mouth, “Why don’t you have on underwear . . . ?”
“I’m being historically accurate,” she said, her fingers stroking his ear, his sideburn, down his jaw. “Real Regency ladies were bloomers-dropping little strumpets.”
He laughed. “I love Regency ladies. I love you as a Regency lady.”
He moved them toward the house, pressing her back against the bricks to help hold her up.
His hands stayed on her thighs, feeling her skin as if enjoying it very much, and he kissed her slowly.
As her pulse sped up, so did her kisses.
She gripped his hair and moved his head down toward her neck and chest.
“This whole area,” he said, bending to kiss the exposed tops of her breasts. “How hard it’s been for me to pretend like I don’t notice.”
“If you like my boobs, just wait till you see my ankles.”
He laughed into her cleavage, and the sound sent vibrations coursing through her limbs and into her center. Again her body was screaming: Him! Yes, I want him! And again part of her brain screamed back: —Stop! He’ll leave you, he’ll betray you, there’s no future here!
Before she could decide if body or brain would win, Hank spooked at a sudden din from the direction of the house front. A crunch of gravel on the driveway, the hubbub of voices, the zoom of a car engine. It sounded like an ending.
Hank looked at her with a question. Do we ignore them and stay here? Kestrel was very much on the side of pretending auditory ignorance. But then came a clear call of “Has anyone seen Mr. Kern?” Reluctantly, Kestrel unwound her legs as Hank set her down.
When they came around the side of the house, a steady stream of guests was moving out the open front door.
The whole structure was lit up as bright as a birthday cake and bore little resemblance to the dark, gloomy manor she’d encountered on Christmas Eve.
For some reason, that sparked anger, and she snorted.
“What is it?” asked Hank.
“When I arrived, there was no one waiting for me at the airport. They’d forgotten about me.
And you know what? It didn’t bother me because I expect it.
But I don’t want to expect that anymore.
I want to raise my expectations. I want great expectations!
For myself, for others. For life. I don’t know what an expectational life looks like, but I want to find out. ”
Hank nodded. “You should. Don’t settle. Kestrel, never settle.” He spoke with passion, but there was a sadness in his eyes.
As cars carrying the ball guests departed, the only one left was the “horseless carriage” for the Windy Nook guests. Edwin opened the door for Mrs. Martinez.
Mr. Houlihan lingered by the door. He was holding Andrews by both hands and smiling at him so lovingly, Kestrel wouldn’t have been surprised if his pupils had transformed into little hearts.
One of the Hardy Boys held Lady Heartwright’s hand to help her in while the other one stood nearby visibly pouting. Kestrel couldn’t tell which was which. Maybe Lady Heartwright couldn’t either. What did her choice really matter after all? It was all pretend, and the play was over.
Charming stepped up to the car and whisper-shouted, “Hey, Mr. Charming, when you get back, wanna have a sleepover, what-what?”
“Jolly good, right-o!” said Edwin, sounding a bit like Charming himself.
“There you are, Mr. Kern,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook, standing on the front steps, her shoulders and arms ensconced in a shawl. “I was about to send out a search party.”
Kestrel whispered, “Do you want to sleep over?” and Hank answered, “Yes,” before she could even finish the question.
“Come, come,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said as she bustled over to take his arm. “I have been entirely too lenient. At the end of a ball, a Regency gentleman goes home.”
She walked him to the car. He turned back to look at Kestrel.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He started to get into the vehicle but turned to repeat, “Tomorrow?” in a voice both hopeful and a little unsure.
“Why not?” As soon as Kestrel said it, the words ricocheted inside her, creating tiny cracks where doubt seeped in. Why not . . . ? In Anika’s voice, her mind found a ready reply: If you take him away from his family and home, he will resent you for the rest of his life.
Kestrel clutched at her heart as she watched the vehicle drive away and realized that despite all the earnest talking, they hadn’t resolved anything. No plan, no path, no imaginable future with Hank bloomed before her. A chill touched her cheek. She held out her palm and caught a snowflake.
It was Twelfth Night. Epiphany Eve. Tomorrow was The End. But Kestrel was still in Austenland, where anything was possible.